“Yes. The entire population’s disaffected.”
Sir Edward Muir said, “Are you quite sure you’re not seeing what you wish to see? I’ve gathered that Joe Stalin is in very firm control.”
“No,” Baron Oleg Zimovoi said—very quiet, very firm. “A year ago that was true. Today, no.”
Count Anatol Markov’s voice came into it with the dryness of a mistral soughing in autumn leaves. “A totalitarian system survives only so long as it can hold the monopoly of power. Communications, the means of indoctrinating the people, the ability to browbeat everybody into collaboration—so that if you refuse to betray your neighbor you will be arrested right along with him. That is Stalin’s leverage—fear, the threat of the Siberian camps. As long as he maintains it he stays in power. But he is not maintaining it. It’s crumbling.”
Prince Leon resumed:
“The weaknesses of this kind of regime show up in a crisis. It is a crisis right now—the worst they have ever had, the worst they are ever likely to have. The Germans are taking Soviet Russia at a rate of eleven miles a day. Stalin has lost an incredible area of territory—including the heavy industries of the Ukraine. Nearly a quarter of the Russian population is presently beyond his reach.”
Alex felt the weight of his meaning. It slowed his breathing and made his palms damp.
“He has lost hundreds of thousands of troops,” Prince Leon continued—resonant, soft-voiced, relentless. “Possibly more than a million. What is left of the Red Army is hanging by its fingernails—fighting the Germans only because they know they will be shot by their own commissars if they try to retreat.”
His face turned. “Oleg is in daily communication with Moscow. Oleg?”
The Socialist baron showed his teeth: more a rictus than a smile. “It is teeming with anti-Communist partisans. They are assassinating commissars by the hundreds. Sabotaging the Red Army, collaborating with the Germans. The villages have been welcoming the Wehrmacht with open arms—gifts of food and flowers and women. There is not one Soviet soldier in twenty who’s loyal to Stalin by choice.”
Vassily Devenko came into it. “If Hitler takes the Soviet Union he will have all the manpower and industry he will ever need—he will throw all of it against England and the neutrals in Europe and after that he will move across the Atlantic.” His sharp creased face came around toward Alex: “Is the American army prepared for that?”
“Right now the United States has a standing army no bigger than Sweden’s.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
Prince Leon said, “Hitler’s goal is world empire. If he can take Russia and hold it the rest is inevitable.”
Baron Oleg Zimovoi said, “Entire battalions are deserting the Red Army—defecting. They would rather be German prisoners than Red soldiers.”
“Because it is not even their own land they are fighting for,” Anatol said. “It is Stalin’s. He has nationalized every plot of land in the Soviet Union.”
Prince Leon addressed himself to the old Scots generaclass="underline" “Can you see those people stopping the tide, Sir Edward?”
“My government want Russia to hold. Not to defeat the Nazis—that may be too much to ask. But to hold, to buy the Allies time to build up.” His glance, almost accusing, came to Alex: “Time for Roosevelt to persuade his people that they can’t keep ignoring the European war. He must convince his Congress.”
Count Anatol spoke again: “The Russian people need something to fight for—it comes down to that. Give them back their land—give them back their own country, and then they won’t be so damnably eager to see German jackboots trampling it. Give them back their pride as individuals. That is our purpose. To give them something to fight for.”
Prince Leon was watching Alex. “Do you understand us now, Alexsander? Do you understand what we’re saying?”
“You want to overthrow Joseph Stalin,” Alex said.
9.
The evening was warm; the spacious rooms were heavy with smoky body heat and a growing number of guests took their refreshment in wicker Madeira chairs in the garden. Irina drifted through it in an uneasy search.
The shadows beyond the villa were deep; around the lamps moths jazzed and Irina felt the day’s heat begin to lift. The manicured hedges made an exact circle and the lawn was a green disc with a round bed of vivid flowers at its axis.
She didn’t find what she sought; she went on inside the villa—still looking for the bald man in the rumpled suit. It had become a serious quest now because somewhere in the past half hour she had realized what it was that had alarmed her about the man.
It was the slight dent in the skirt of his coat that could have been made by the handle of a pistol in his belt.
10.
“The proposal is before this council to organize the overthrow of the Bolshevik government in Russia.
“We must act now with great care,” Prince Leon continued. “We have been powerless exiles for half our lives, trumpeting pronouncements that have no meaning. We have learned how to be harmless. Tonight suddenly our decisions can affect hundreds of millions of people. Once we go beyond this point it will be the first time since Kolchak that our political directives will have real significance.
“Obviously that is one reason why we have got to set aside our own differences. We cannot allow this thing to be sabotaged by our own conflicting aims. In this room tonight we cannot try to resolve the political debates of centuries—but we must find a way to neutralize these differences at the outset.”
Vassily Devenko’s face contorted with pained disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”
“I assure you I am.”
“You could be five years in this room talking it through. In the name of God we have no time for political quibbling.”
Count Anatol’s cold voice cut in. “Even you ought to see that we cannot simply assassinate the Soviet leaders and sit back to quarrel among ourselves afterward. You cannot kill Bolshevism simply by eliminating its leaders. We must provide something that takes the place of the Bolshevik apparatus—otherwise a new Stalin will take over and then what will we have gained?”
Sir Edward Muir said, “You’ve got to present a united movement to the eyes of the Allies. My government are prepared to deal with you as a unified group but you can hardly expect Whitehall to go very far with a loose collection of bickering factions. If you do not settle your differences before you begin, I’m afraid there will be little hope of receiving the support you will need to have when you go into the field.”
Vassily curbed his tongue but Alex knew that expression.
Old Prince Michael stirred and sat upright. “The common enemy is Stalinism. Leon is correct—we must not lose sight of that. Whatever our differences we must all recognize the evil of this monster and the vicious proletarian ideology he pretends to represent. What have the masses ever created? Group intelligence is always far inferior—yes—a civilization achieves its level of greatness in proportion to the amount of significance it gives the individual and his dignity. Yet these heathen atheists glorify the mass spirit, the mind of the mob, as their greatest achievement.”
He stopped to clear his throat and no one interrupted: they gave him their respect because of his birth and the royal house he represented. The Grand Duke Dmitri was one of the three legitimate Pretenders alive; the second was Feodor, infirm and abed in the next room. So long as the houses of these two Grand Dukes spoke with a common voice the weight of the Romanov dynasty supported that voice. But if the two houses divided then the pivotal authority would devolve onto the Grand Duke Mikhail—the only one of the three not represented here because Mikhail lived in Munich and was an ardent Nazi.